


Fractured

by with_wit_and_perfect_timing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes & Peggy Carter Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Memory Loss, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Violence, POV Peggy Carter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_wit_and_perfect_timing/pseuds/with_wit_and_perfect_timing
Summary: “How…are you feeling?” A silly question, really, but it could possibly be the beginning of a much-needed conversation.Bucky let out a quick laugh, “Peachy, actually.”“James – ”“I’m fine…really.”“You and I both know that’s not quite true, now, is it?”_____________________________________________Peggy and Bucky, on New Year's Day, have a discussion of Bucky's capture from Hydra, and the torture he endured.





	Fractured

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Bucky will be talking about his experience during the capture with HYDRA. There will be descriptions of torture and psychological abuse, so if you have a hard time reading about this, please be safe and careful!

            Deep colored lights surrounded the bar, dim, musty, and warm, as the men and women who occupied it laughed and sang their merry, drunken hearts out. Playful arms slung around shoulders, and knees weak from exhaustion, damp hair clinging to sweat-ridden foreheads of folks too giddy to care.  The Howling Commandos fought like true soldiers, but as Peggy Carter came to discover, they bloody well drank like soldiers.

            It was near two in the morning on New Year’s Day, and the excitement from the midnight strike still buzzed around and filled up empty mugs with beer. The group of men, including Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, talked into the night, stories of home and deep-rooted nostalgia was passed around the circle, perhaps becoming increasingly personal as the drinks continued to slip smoothly down their throats.

            The men had done their best to include Peggy in the celebration, such as cheering her on as she downed four full shots of fireball whiskey in less than twenty seconds. If there was anything the soldiers knew about Carter, is was that she could hold her liquor.

            As the stories continued, Peggy told her fair share of tales from the war, and even a few of her childhood. She supposed that the intimate anecdotes would conclude eventually, and they would veer into different topics, but once the clock struck three, Peggy knew she had run out of stories she was comfortable sharing with the other men.  Falsworth was in the middle of telling a story of his older brother and how he treated him growing up; earning howls of laughter from the accurately named group, and in the midst of the hysterics, Peggy slowly stood and turned to grab her coat.

            “Hey, Peg, where you off to?” called Dugan, and all the heads at the table turned towards her.

            Peggy smiled stiffly but it felt sloppy around her lips, “I’m going to call it a night – or morning now, I suppose.”

            She hears multiple groans in protest. “Nah, Carter,” Jones told her, slinging an arm across the back of his chair, “Don’t leave yet. You gotta teach Morita how to drink like a man.”

            “As much… _fun_ as that sounds,” Peggy chuckled, “I really should get home. I’ll see you all bright, early, and severely hung-over in the morning.”

            “You really shouldn’t leave without an escort. New Year’s Eve is not the night to be walking the streets alone,” said Dugan, making no movements to volunteer.  Peggy caught a split second of a glance at Steve.

            Steve tightened his jaw nervously, and rose to get up, “Here, I’ll walk you back.”

            Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder and stood instead. “Don’t worry, buddy, I got this,” he says and Steve sits down, looking defeated much to Peggy’s disappointment. For some strange reason, she found herself wanting him to put up more of a fight. “I was just about to go anyways.”

            Peggy bristled slightly as Bucky smoothed his clothes and hair; annoyed that he felt the need to escort her anywhere. “See you guys back at the base,” he said.

            The Howling Commandos harmonized in farewells and clapped Bucky on the back as a means of parting.

            “I’m capable of walking myself back, thank you,” said Peggy crisply as Bucky stood at her side and led her to the exit. He only chuckled, but there was no lightness.

            Bucky allowed his hand to linger over the small of her back as they walked through the bar and past the sweaty occupants. Peggy walked hurriedly to the exit and pushed the door open before Bucky could do it for her, letting the cold air of the night rush in and cool her damp skin. Outside, the muddled din of the drunken soldiers somehow seeps through the brick walls. Peggy shrugged on her coat but leaves it unbuttoned to let a portion of the cold air regulate her body temperature.

            Bucky puts his hands in his pockets and began to walk down the street with Peggy in tow. They walked in silence; the only noise coming from the click of Carter’s heels. She hears an inhale from her left and immediately prepares for the worst.

            “So I was thinking,” Bucky said half-heartedly, “maybe sometime we should-”

            “Let me stop you right there, Sergeant Barnes.” Peggy stopped walking and turned to him sharply. “I know this was your idea of a clever ploy to ask me out to dance or to eat, or whatever you enjoy making girls suffer through for your entertainment, but I really suggest you should rethink your next words very carefully. Our relationship is acquaintances, friends at best, and if you should know anything about me, James, it’s that I rarely, if ever at all, overstep those boundaries.”

            Bucky smirked, then looked at the ground and nodded. “Yeah, I had a feeling you would say that.” 

            “Then why ask at all?”

            He shrugged, “It seems like something I would do.”

            Peggy scoffed quietly, feeling a small nagging feeling of concern, and began to walk once again. “Consistency is key, I suppose. But just because you are able to do it does not mean you should.”

            Bucky nodded, “Yeah, absolutely. But that’s not what I meant.”

            Peggy looked over at him and confusion rose in her chest as his face darkened. “What did you mean then?” she asked.

            He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and a flutter of anxiety began to root itself in her stomach.

            “Flirting,” he said slowly, “is something I used to do. Something that came naturally.”

            Peggy made a sound of agreement. “What do you mean, ‘used to’?”

            That was apparently the question she wasn’t meant to ask, for Bucky quieted immediately and sucked in a breath.

            “You mean…before the…” Peggy started slowly, hoping he would finish for her.

            “Yeah,” was all he said.

            Peggy wanted to prod, she truly did, but she knew it was wrong. She had no idea what happened to Bucky when he was found along with the rest of the 107th, she wasn’t even there when the battle ensued. She read the report that described the means of his “treatment” by Hydra, but she was positive Bucky suffered much more than he let on. She had let her curiosity run wild with theories, but never once assumed without hearing Barnes and his side of the story.

            “How…are you feeling?” A silly question, really, but it could possibly be the beginning of a much-needed conversation.

            Bucky let out a quick laugh, “Peachy, actually.”

            “James – ”

            “I’m fine…really.”

            “You and I both know that’s not quite true, now, is it?”

            Bucky mumbled an unenthusiastic laugh and looked at his boots. Peggy thought she wouldn’t hear another word from him that had anything to do with the matter, but after a few minutes of walking, he spoke.

            “I can’t talk to him about it,” Bucky whispered, so quietly that Peggy nearly missed his words. She looked at him, and his eyes were pained. “I can’t talk to him about it,” he repeated, exhaling shakily. “Every time, he just…looks at me, with that stupid look of worry on his face. Like I’m a stray puppy or somethin’. Like I need to be taken in n’ fixed up.”

            “I know that face,” Peggy said quietly. “It comes with the whole package, now doesn’t it?”

            Bucky gave a sad smile. “It does. When…when things like that happen to you, talking about it – reliving it – just…makes it worse, you know?”

            Peggy didn’t know, and she hoped to God she would never have to. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

            “Don’t apologize,” Bucky snapped. Peggy’s stance became rigid, and he sighed as if releasing steam. “No…I’m sorry, just…it’s not your fault. Saying sorry just makes me feel responsible.”

            “Responsible for what?”

            “For…what happened to me.”

            They walked for a few more minutes, and then, when they were both illuminated by the pale lights shining through the window of a twenty-four-hour diner, Peggy stopped him. The alcohol in her system was still swirling around inside of her head, and before her logical, more-sober side could stop her, she asked the question she vowed to never ask outright.

            “What _did_ happen to you, Sergeant Barnes?”

            Bucky found them a secluded booth in Polly’s Diner, and ordered them both black coffees, along with a cup of peppermint tea for Peggy. “The perfect hangover food,” he told her once the waitress walked away.

            “We’re not hung-over,” she pointed out.

            “Oh, but we sure will be.”

            Once they had their drinks, the small wisps of steam swirling above the mugs, Bucky sat back against the booth cushion and sighed shallowly. Peggy brought the mug to her lips and felt the scalding tea run smoothly down her throat and pool into her stomach.

            “They picked me and a few others, out of all the guys,” Bucky said suddenly. Peggy’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “Most of the Hydra soldiers were speaking German, but Zola told me we had the most ‘potential’.”

            Peggy placed the mug down silently and folded her hands in her lap.

            “They took me out, kicking and screaming practically. They had us in all separate rooms, but I could hear the other guys screaming, too. Two guys strapped me to a table and left me there for hours. I was yelling for so long, I thought my throat was going to split open.” Bucky swallowed dryly, and then took a sip of coffee. “After a day or two, they came in; force-fed me some bread, potatoes, stuff like that. Tasted like cement, but I guess it kept me alive, huh?” He said the words so sardonically that Peggy knew there was a different meaning he intended with them.

            “That’s when they started asking me all these questions; simple questions, really. Like my name, my rank, where I lived, my parents’ names. Nothing personal, they were things they could have looked up in my files. But they asked me to say them, over and over, while I was hooked up to this…thing, I don’t know what it was. It might’ve been reading my brain activity but I can’t be sure. After repeating everything a thousand times over, they would zap me with some kind of electricity. It hurt something fierce for a second, and didn’t do anything _but_ hurt for the first few trials.”

            Bucky tensed all of a sudden and took a long drink of his coffee. After he set it down, he poured some sugar, creamer, stirred it for a few minutes, staring intently at the swirling light-colored liquid. Peggy waited for his next words patiently.

            He took a sharp breath in and began again. “They left me again, for about a day. When they came back, they hooked me up again and asked me the same questions. My name, my rank, etcetera. But…” His jaw clenched. “This time, they zapped me after they asked the question, but before I could answer. When they zapped me, I forgot what they asked me. Just for a second, like it was stuck on the tip of my tongue. They kept doing it…over and over and over until it took me ten minutes to remember my rank. They would…interrogate me for the answers, torture me. I thought they were going to cut me open if I didn’t remember fast enough. They used all sorts of things on me.” Bucky’s voice quavered and he used his mug to stifle the shaking of his hands. “After a few days of that, I couldn’t remember what I ate when they fed me. I never forgot my name, though. They would have made me if I had been there any longer.”

            Without realizing, Peggy lifted her tea with trembling hands. Listening to him talk about it impacted her more than she had anticipated.

            “There are some things…some things I still don’t remember.” Bucky leaned on the table with his elbows and wrung his hands. “Memories that are small, but important. Once someone reminds me, I start to get bits and pieces, and it takes a while to remember the whole thing.” Then, Bucky’s voice changed and became warbled and tight. “I was thinking about my mom, and for a second…I couldn’t remember her name…her face...” He looked at Peggy pleadingly. “My _mother._ ”

            “Oh, James…” Peggy reached across the table and gripped his hand with hers.

            “I feel like I’m missing…a part of me, that Zola took from me, that he _stole_ from me. There’s a hole, somewhere inside of me, where something is missing, but I don’t know what it is. It leaves me feeling…empty, I guess. The other men they experimented on…they didn’t make it. I’m the only one who made it out alive. Sometimes, I do or say things that I think will convince everyone that I’m fine, that…that I can get through this.” His bottom lip began to tremble, and his eyes moistened. “But I don’t know if I can.”

            Peggy squeezed his hand tight and leaned forwards. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

            Tears rolled down Bucky’s cheeks and he choked on a sob. “How?”

            “Only you can know, James. But you won’t ever have to do it alone.”

            “I’m the only one who made it out alive,” Bucky said once more, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together methodically, his features darkening. “There are times…where I wished they had killed me right then and there. Just sliced me open instead of making me go through…all of that.”

            Peggy truly was at a loss for words. How could she properly express how wrong he was? Can words alone represent the value of someone’s life?

            Bucky furrowed his brow. “Please…don't tell Steve about this.”

            Peggy sighed, “I won’t tell him this…but _you_ should.”

            He shook his head, “No, no I _can’t._ He’ll…treat me differently, I _know_ he will.”

            “Perhaps…but he’s worried about you. We all are. He won’t judge you for the things you forget, and neither will I. We’re just happy you’re alive. _I’m_ happy you’re alive. So, please,” Peggy asked, “You love him…don't you?”

            Bucky stayed silent for a long while, his hands still cupped by Peggy’s, his jaw set, and his eyes hardened on his coffee. Then, his eyes softened, and he looked at her, one side of his mouth turning up. “More than you know.”

            There was gentleness in his eyes that Peggy could only recognize as her own infatuation with the super soldier. And a hopelessness of the unrequited.

            “Then tell him.”

            He nodded. “I…I’ll try.”

            She walked him back to the base, in pleasant silence as the sky lightened from inky black to dark navy. When they bid adieu, Peggy held him close and whispered sincere reassurance in his ear, which he responded with a quick peck on the cheek and a good night. When Peggy rolled into bed that early morning, her head throbbing from the fireball whiskeys finally catching up to her system, she had complete faith that Bucky had the strength to share his sorrow with the person who meant most to him. That he could truly overcome this obstacle, and somehow lead a stable life.

            But he never got the chance.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave any comments/questions you have down below, it would be greatly appreciated :)
> 
> \- Kaz


End file.
